Strange Diagnosis
by Undead Dungeon Master
Summary: When the Department of Homeland Security's secret weapon in the war on scientific terrorism, Dr. Walter Bishop, falls into a coma there is only one man the government can turn to pull him back out: Gregory House, M.D. But is he up to the task?
1. Chapter 1

**PHILADELPHIA, PA**

The sewers of Philadelphia never smelled good, but on a hot summer day the stench approached unbearable. Roger Barnes gagged as he lowered himself through the manhole.

"Jesus Christ, throw me down the menthol Tay."

Tayamora Hrung wrinkled his nose as he looked down through the open hole in the street.

"What an incredible smell you've discovered!"

Last week Roger found out Tay, who had immigrated here from somewhere in Asia a few years ago, had never seen _Star Wars._ Naturally Roger loaned him his copy. Now the younger man was taking every opportunity to quote the film. That line had become an instant favorite, and in their line of work was often appropriate.

"Yeah, real funny. The menthol Tay!"

Tay tossed down the heavy green glass bottle, and Roger held his breath while he unscrewed the cap. He smeared the viscous gel over his mustache. It didn't entirely block the scent of warm, rotting effluvia, but Roger no longer felt the need to throw up on his boots.

Switching his flashlight on Roger looked down the long, narrow tunnel. He had to crouch down to move through these older tubes, built back in the late nineteenth century. They said people back then were shorter, and as Roger's helmet scraped along the low ceiling he believed it.

Tay dropped down behind him. "You see the blockage yet?"

Roger prodded the darkness with his flashlight, but it revealed nothing. "I don't see a damn thing."

Sewage had overflowed from the main line a few blocks back, dumping into the storm drains and bringing the stench of Philadelphia's dark secrets to the surface. Roger and Tay had to find out what was causing the blockage. Which is why they were down here.

Roger crept forward a bit farther and the light from his torch found something that glistened. Roger duckwalked towards the obstruction and let out a low whistle.

"What the hell is this?"

The entire tunnel was clogged with some kind of organic matter. A twisted knot of thick wet tubes of slimy purple _something_, studded along it's length with large, dull white thorns. Roger's mind fumbled with what he was seeing, trying to put a name to the weird mass before him.

"You find something?"

"Yeah. Something. I don't know what the hell this is, it's like. I don't know. Maybe it's some kind of giant worm?"

Roger had seen some pretty weird stuff down in these tunnels, everything from blind fish the size of your fist to freakish clumps of something his superiors assured him were "harmless tube worms."

Roger reached out to touch the mass, glad he'd remembered to put his heavy duty rubber gloves on. The mass was soft, spongy, and he was able to easily press his fingers into it.

"Might be some kind of vegetation?"

Suddenly the mass shifted, the long thick coils rolling over each other. One of the white thorns burst, spraying a viscous yellow-white fluid in Roger's face. He gagged and stumbled back, falling hard on his ass as he clawed at his face. It burned where it touched his skin.

Tay scrambled forward and grabbed Roger's shoulders, dragging him away. He was shouting in a language that Roger didn't recognize. Roger tried to assure him that he was all right, but as he tried to speak he found he was choking on something.

A circle of light appeared above him, sunlight pouring through the open manhole. Roger felt a strange calm pass through him as the small circle of light faded and went dark. Tay shook Roger's shoulders, begging him to stay conscious.


	2. Chapter 2

**HARVARD UNIVERSITY, BOSTON, MA**

Holding the scalpel delicately between his thumb and forefinger, Walter Bishop slowly and carefully cut a thin strip of flesh from Roger Barnes arm and placed it on a glass slide, then turned and looked out at his laboratory and made a humming sound. Astrid looked up from her computer and noted the puzzled expression on his face.

"Everything okay Walter?"

"Oh yes," Walter exclaimed and then ambled towards the electron microscope. "I forgot where I put my microscope. Here it is."

Astrid cocked an eyebrow and considered the addled scientist skeptically. It was one thing to be absent minded, another thing entirely to misplace a table sized electron microscope that was within arm's reach. But that was Walter, she thought as she returned to writing up another of agent Dunham's case files.

As she typed Astrid marveled at the oddness of the report. She had been there for most of it, and yet even she found the things she had to write down impossible to believe. When she had accepted the assignment to Fringe Division she had expected it to be mostly paperwork. Junior agents were rarely given jobs worthy of much respect. She had never imagined that writing up reports would be one of the most exciting aspects of her job. Even though she participated in all of the Science Team's investigations, she never saw the parts that happened outside the lab, and reading Olivia's field reports filled in the gaps in the story. Still, even when the report was finished there would be more questions raised than answered.

There was a loud crash of glass breaking and Astrid looked up from her screen to find Walter laying on the floor, broken beakers and flasks scattered around him.

"Walter? Oh my god!" She leaped from her seat and rushed to the aging scientists side. He was twitching and convulsing, his eyes rolled back into his head, and flecks of white foam at the corners of his mouth. She recognized the signs of a seizure, but had no idea what to do. "Hold on Walter! I'm going to get help!"

She rushed to the lab's single phone and rapidly dialed 911. She only hoped the emergency technicians would arrive before it was too late.


	3. Chapter 3

**PRINCETON-PLAINSBORO TEACHING HOSPITAL, NEW JERSEY, NJ**

Doctor Gregory House and his chief resident Doctor Eric Foreman walked towards House's office. They walked slowly, House leaning heavily on his cane while Foreman summarized pending cases for House's consideration.

"A man with CIPA is experiencing black-outs, but no signs of head trauma?"

"We already did CIPA. Pass."

"A teenage boy from Texas complaining of ear pain, headaches and nausea."

"Football player? Wears a helmet?"

Foreman scanned his notes and blinked. "Yeah, how did you know that?"

"X-ray his head, they'll find a beetle has burrowed into his ear. Happens all the time in Texas. Pass."

House stopped in his tracks. A tall, thin and menacing looking African-American man was standing in his office. He wore a suit that practically screamed government agent, and carried himself with a self-certain sense of authority. He was watching House watch him.

"Who is that?"

"How should I know?

"I thought all you people knew each other."

"You people? Really?" Foreman glared at him. "No House, black people don't all know each other."

"Oh!" House exclaimed with exaggerated surprise. "No, see, I meant boring stuffed shirts." House shot him a disapproving look. "Way to play the race card there Eric."

Foreman rolled his eyes and pushed through into House's office, holding the door open as House followed him in.

The tall black man in the government suit watched them dispassionately as he entered. House noted to himself that the man was even more menacing once one got up close to him, like an angry Egyptian god come to deliver divine justice. House said nothing, simply appraising the man who was clearly silently appraising him. He walked around the man to his desk, tossing his jacket on the bookshelf and depositing his cane in the wastebasket as he took his seat. Leaning back, he put his feet up on the desk and reached for his mini-basketball.

"Doctor Gregory House, I presume."

House smiled to himself. The other man spoke first, which meant House had won the exchange.

"That depends. Are you with the IRS?"

"Department of Homeland Security." The scary Egyptian god man reached into his jacket and flashed the ID he kept within. "Special Agent Phillip Broyles."

From behind the agent Foreman looked up from the files he was pretending to read and arched an eyebrow.

"What did you do House?"

"Chuh! Thanks a lot Foreman, now I can't pretend I'm you."

Foreman smirked in response, and Broyles scanned them both icily.

"So what does the government want with me this time?"

"I assume doctor patient confidentiality extends to your resident, Dr. Foreman here? This is a matter of national security."

Foreman's eyes went wide as he looked at House incredulously, probably wondering what House had got him in to. House tossed the basketball through the hoop and put his feet on the floor.

"It does."

"Dr. House, I run the department's Fringe Division. We investigate cases of high tech terrorism. Biological, chemical, radiological. We deal with very dangerous people. You understand."

"Not really, but I'll pretend I do."

"A member of our Science Team has fallen ill. He's in a coma, completely nonresponsive. We don't know why. And unfortunately for Dr. Bishop, he is the man we rely on to tell us why."

"Dr. Bishop? Foreman, do we know any Doctor Bishops?"

Foreman shrugged.

"No, I'm sorry agent Broyles. There are dozens of diagnosticians in the area who can identify whatever toxin the good Doctor Bishop has exposed himself to. But really, if the idiot managed to expose himself, maybe you should just let it run its course and find a new doctor. That's just sloppy." He glanced at Foreman and they shared a mean smile. "It's unprofessional."

Broyles lip twitched as if he had _almost_ smiled. "I really don't think we could find a replacement for Walter. I also don't think just any diagnostician -"

"Wait, did you say _Walter_ Bishop? Not _the_ Doctor Walter Bishop?"

Broyles eyebrow raised. "There's a _the_ Doctor Walter Bishop?"

"Who is Walter Bishop?"

"Before your time Foreman. When I was in med school he made all the news. Well all the medical journals. Well, all the trashy ones at least. Maybe it was the _Enquirer_. Long story short: A twisted drug addict who experiments on real people gets thrown in the loony bin for killing one of his assistants. A real life Doctor Frankenstein."

"You must have really admired him."

House chuckled for a moment as he appreciated Foreman's zinger, then turned to give his full attention to agent Broyles. "And now he works for the government?"

"Doctor Bishop has made a lot of progress since his breakdown. He's also been a great asset in the defense of this country. If he doesn't recover, it will be a great loss to -"

"Oh forget that! It will be a great loss to mad science! I'm in. Bring Herr Doktor in, we'll pop him open, take a look under the hood, kick the tires, get him up and running in no time."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that Dr. House. You'll have to come to him. I have a car waiting for you outside. I apologize for the short notice, but there are --" Broyles paused, considering his words carefully. "-- larger issues at stake. Doctor Foreman can join you, if you feel you'll need your own people."

"You hear that Eric? Grab your jacket, we're going on a field trip."


	4. Chapter 4

**MASSACHUCSETTS GENERAL HOSPITAL, BOSTON, MA**

Peter Bishop sat by his father's hospital bed, holding his hand as he nervously watched the heart and respiration monitors. A seemingly endless array of tubes, hoses and wires connected Walter to a half-dozen machines. Across the room FBI agent Olivia Dunham leaned against the window sill, contemplating Peter.

Peter frequently acted as if he was put out and bothered by his new life of watching over Walter, but here at Massachusetts General the act had been dropped, and Peter's face was a tortured mask of genuine concern.

The door opened to reveal Phillip Broyles. He scanned the room quickly, meeting Olivia's glance with a nod, and stepped in. Peter only looked up when he realized that Broyles was not alone, and just as quickly returned his gaze to the monitors.

Olivia studied the two men. The older one wore a sport jacket and carried a cane. His hair was short but mussed, and he sported several days growth of stubble. His eyes were sad and deep, and his face etched with lines that indicated he'd experienced great pain in his life. His younger companion was a clean cut African-American in a tailored suit, easily the more professional of the two, but the way he carried himself – as if he was ready to barrel into any obstacle that might throw itself in his way – suggested that he too had seen trouble in his life. He also held a file in his hands, one that Olivia recognized as belonging to Fringe Division. It must be Walter's case file she reasoned.

Broyles gestured to the men. "Doctor Greg House and Doctor Eric Foreman, meet Agent Olivia Dunham and Peter Bishop, Walter's son."

Olivia stepped forward to greet the two men. The younger one, who Broyles had identified as Foreman, stepped forward and took her hand with a 'pleased to meet you,' while the older doctor brushed passed her and went immediately to Walter's medical charts. As he examined them he let out a troubled sigh.

"What is it?" Olivia asked, trying to glimpse over his shoulder. House frowned and angled away from her, hiding the clipboard as he finished scanning it.

Handing the clipboard to Foreman he finally took notice of Olivia. "What makes you think this man was exposed to a toxin?"

Olivia explained what had happened in the sewers beneath Philadelphia, about Roger Barnes and Walter's collapse. Foreman grunted as he read the chart, and exchanged a puzzled glance with House.

"What?" Olivia glanced back and forth between the two doctors. "Do you know what this is?"

House ignored the question as he moved around to Walter's side and slide his eyes open, shining a small flashlight into them to test the reaction. Peter watched him in mute silence.

Foreman returned the chart to its hook and addressed Olivia. "The tests that have been run so far are fairly inconclusive, but I don't see anything to indicate any kind of poisoning or infection."

"So why exactly are we assuming this coma was caused by exposure?"

"Because," Peter interjected angrily, "my father was cutting into the body of the first victim when he collapsed, and it doesn't take a genius to make the connection."

"Right," House muttered sarcastically. "Because if a man walks out of a building and the building explodes, he must have set the bomb."

Peter's nostrils flared and he started to rise from his seat, but a quick hand on his shoulder from Olivia calmed him down.

"Excuse Peter, he's just worried about Walter," she explained. "The original victim fell into a coma before expiring."

Foreman glanced at House who only cocked an eyebrow in response. Turning back to Olivia he asked: "Did they share any other symptoms."

Her mouth opened, then snapped shut as she shrugged, a weak expression on her face. "I couldn't say. I don't think so."

"And the first victim died after exposure to –" Foreman checked the file in his hands. "– an 'organic mass.' What kind of organic mass? What kind of description is that?"

Olivia and Broyles exchanged anxious glances before she answered the question, choosing her words carefully: "The exact nature of the mass is currently unknown. We're investigating it."

House lifted Walter's hand and dropped it by his side, watching it fall. "This thing in the sewers, do we have a sample?"

Broyles sighed from the doorway as his brow crinkled. "The organic mass was destroyed earlier this evening by a squad of agents using flamethrowers. I don't believe any of the original mass remains."

House and Foreman exchanged annoyed glances.

"That was an incredibly stupid thing to do," grumbled House. Foreman nodded, unable to disagree with House's assessment. "What about the sewer worker, what happened to him?"

Peter looked up from Walter's side. "Other than dying?"

House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, other than that."

"His body is being stored in the infectious disease unit upstairs until the CDC can get their people here from Atlanta to examine it," Olivia explain, adding helpfully: "I can show you the body."

"Considering there's absolute nothing I can do here that I couldn't do from the hall, let's do that."

"Hey, wait a minute." Peter stood and jabbed a finger towards House. "Who do you think you are? What makes you think you can just storm in here and start acting like you own the place?"

House glanced at Peter's accusing finger and sneered. "I'm the best diagnostician you're going to find, and the only person here who has any chance of figuring out what's happened here. I think a better question is how deluded are you to think getting angry is going to do a damn thing to help your father."

Peter huffed and turned to Olivia but found no support there. Instead she gestured to the door, where Broyles stepped back to let the doctors through. "Gentlemen, I'll take you to see Roger Barnes."

House and Foreman exited the room, with Olivia right behind them. Peter grabbed her arm as she left and hissed: "Liv, you sure this is a good idea? What do we know about this guy?"

"I don't know Peter. Broyles said he was the best." She fixed him with a steady gaze and added: "I also know that geniuses can be temperamental and hard to work with. I think you know that too."

A guilty expression fell across Peter's face as he turned to look at his father.


	5. Chapter 5

**MASSACHUCSETTS GENERAL HOSPITAL, BOSTON, MA**

In the decontamination chamber outside the temporary morgue that housed Roger Barnes body, House was still struggling to pull his biohazard suit over his leg while Foreman affixed his own helmet and activated the suit's vacuum seal.

"That agent Dunham is pretty hot, yeah?"

Foreman snorted, his warm breath condensing on his visor. "Just don't invite her to join the team. I remember what happened the last time the government asked for your help."

"Hey, come on." House pulled the suit up over his shoudlers, sliding his arms into its sleeves. "Dunham is a glorified cop. Samira was a doctor. Totally different."

"Yeah, a bad doctor who worked for the government and happened to be gorgeous. Admit it House, you just have thing for hot women with authority. Like your thing with Cuddy."

House scoffed as he affixed his helmet to the suit. "I don't have a thing for Cuddy."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay. You ready?"

House turned to face the airlock and activated his vacuum seal. "As I'll ever be."

Foreman reached out as trigger the airlock. It slid open with a soft whoosh. The air inside the room was chill, the thermostat turned way down to help preserve the body. As the warm air from inside the changing room mixed with the cold air a fog seemed to fill the air. A faint blue light emanated from a refrigerated medical cabinet, cutting through the fog and casting the room in an eerie light.

"Yeah, that's kinda creepy," House muttered as he flipped a switch on the wall, filling the room with cold white light.

As Foreman stepped through the door he saw it, lying on a cold metal slab in the center of the room. A plastic sheet had been draped over the body. House limped towards it, his cane still sitting in the changing room, and peeled back the plastic covering.

"Wow, you don't see that every day."

Foreman rushed forward, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes saw. He peered down at the corpse, shock threatening to steal his ability to form words. "House, you don't see this any day! This is impossible."

Roger Barnes skin had turned a deep shape of purple and lost its opacity. His entire body was bloated and swollen, with crusting trails of fluid descending from his eyes and nose. It was what was going on under his skin that Foreman couldn't accept. Roger Barnes musculature and internal organs were gone, replacing by long, dark tube-like structures that constricted and expanded under his skin, which should have caused it stretch and distort. That it did not was perhaps more disturb than the movement within.

House reached out and touched the body; Foreman reached for his wrist but House batted his hand away. House's fingers pressed into Barnes' body, which did not give. House turned to look at Foreman, a difficult task in the bulky biosuits, and gave him a reproachful glance. "Advanced hyperkeratosis. Guy's skin is like glass."

Foreman reached out and gingerly touched Barnes body. It was hard, rigid and smooth. He turned to House, but couldn't think of anything to say. House was bent over, fishing around in a medical tray next to the body. When he stood up he had a scalpel in his hand.

"Whoa!" Foreman grabbed his wrist. "House, no way. Are you crazy?"

House frowned and looked down at the body. "You don't want to see what's in there?"

"No, not really. Look at thing House, there's something _growing_ in there, possibly the same thing that did this. You want to cut it open? Let it out? Can we at least check his chart first?"

"I'd probably need a chain saw anyways." House relented and Foreman let go of his wrist. Foreman picked up Roger Barnes' chart and House snatched it out of his hand, quickly looking it over. "This is all wrong. There's no way this is the same thing."

Foreman leaned around House and pulled down on the hood of his suit, trying to lower his visor and read the chart. "What does it say?"

"It says Barnes was admitted to Roxborough Memorial in Philadelphia _yesterday_ at noon. He survived for three hours then suffered a complete systems failure and was pronounced dead. His body was then transferred to Harvard under the care of Walter Bishop, yadda yadda, and those idiots. Whatever killed Roger Barnes has nothing to do with Walter Bishop's coma."

"Walter Bishop has been in his coma for more than 24 hours," nodded Foreman, catching up. "If he'd been affected by whatever killed Roger Barnes, whatever turned him into _this_, he's already be dead."

"Exactly. Homeland Security has got it all wrong."

"So what do we do? The doctors here have already ruled out conventional causes. No head trauma, heart's fine, kidney's are functioning."

"Wait, did they perform a tox screen? Did anyone check for drugs?"

"I don't think so. Come on House, the guy is a top scientist working for the government on ultra-high level terrorism. You think he's on drugs?"

"You don't know this guy's history. He's done more drugs in his lifetime than Keith Richards. On top of that he's a certified loon. So yes, I think he's on drugs. Probably really good ones." House got a wistful look in his eyes for a moment, then it passed. "We're going to need to do a full work-up, test for everything, even the impossible to test for stuff."

"So we order a full tox screen. What do we do while we wait for that?"

"I think it's time we paid a visit to Walter's lab."

On the slab behind them Roger Barnes body twitched, thumping against the table with a cold, metallic ring. House and Foreman both twisted around to look, but it only sat there. Being unnatural.

"Okay House, are we done here? Can we go?"

"Yeah. Yeah let's go."

The two doctors slowly backed out of the room and shut the airlock.


	6. Chapter 6

**HARVARD UNIVERSITY, BOSTON, MA**

House and Foreman stood outside Walter Bishop's laboratory in the Harvard basement. The door was covered with a plastic tarp, secured by strips of yellow and black tape which clearly said "WARNING: BIOHAZARDOUS AREA." House raised his cane and with the hook tore the tape aware; the plastic sheet fell to the floor with a quiet rustle, revealing a plain metal door with small inset window.

"That door probably has an alarm on it House."

"Are you kidding? Alarms hadn't even been invented when they built this place." House tested the handle, it was locked. "Looks like they'd invented locks though. Hand me your wallet."

Foreman eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I need a credit card. I bet you have a dozen."

"Here's an idea House: use your own credit card."

House rolled his eyes. "You really think anyone would give _me_ a credit card?"

Foreman arched an eyebrow and considered House for a moment, then cautiously handed his wallet over. House reached for it and Foreman pulled it back. "No funny business."

House shot him a sour look and snatched the wallet from his hand. He flipped it open, pulled out a credit card and handed it back. "See?"

Foreman frowned and slid the wallet back in his pocket while House turned his attention to the door. He slid the card into the thin gap between the door and it's frame and jiggled it a bit. The door popped open.

"Voilà! Easy as pie."

"My credit card?"

House frowned and pulled the card out from his pocket, handing it over to Foreman, who simply shook his head as he returned it to his wallet.

House entered the lab first, his hand fumbling along the wall for a light switch. Foreman followed him cautiously. House found the switch and the room flooded with light. His eyes went wide as he took in the room's contents.

"Oh neat!"

Foreman scanned the room, which was full of aging machines representing a dozen different scientific disciplines.

"Is that a cow?"

"Look at this place!" House hobbled forward towards the stairs and hopped on the rail, sliding down to the medical bay that dominated the room. "It's like we've died and gone to evil genius heaven."

"This place may not be safe. We still don't know what caused Walter's coma."

"Pfft," House waved offed Foreman's concerns and pointed to the cow. "The cow seems fine. I'm sure it's safe."

Foreman followed him down the stairs. In addition to the standard heart monitors and EEG devices, there were an array of strange machines that he couldn't begin to name, let alone fathom their purpose.

House stopped to pick up a jumble of wires connected to a metal frame. Foreman recognized the frame as belonging to a neurosurgeon's tools, it was used to hold a patients head still during surgery. But the wires he couldn't explain. House looked at him, his face a comic mask of confusion. "I don't have the slightest idea what this is. I love it!"

There was a loud clack, the distinct sound of a gun being cocked. Foreman's hands were already going up before the woman behind him said: "Freeze!"

Foreman shot an angry glance at House. "I told you there was an alarm."

House looked up as Foreman turned around, both were met with the sight of an attractive young African-American woman holding a 9mm automatic. It was pointed squarely at Foreman's chest.

"FBI, don't move."

"Wait," Foreman started. "We can explain. We're doctors."

"Doctors?"

"Walter Bishop is our patient. We're his doctors."

The gun wavered in her hands, and she slowly lowered it, still keeping it cocked.

"What are you doing here?"

"We're looking for clues," explained House as he hobbled forward. "Clues to what put your boss in a coma. He is your boss, right?"

"Yeah, kinda. Not really. I'm more like a babysitter really. It's complicated."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Anyhoo, what I'd really like to be doing is getting back to exploring your boss's cool evil genius laboratory and hopefully finding something that will help me _save his life_. So, you can either shoot me, or let me get back to that."

She snorted and uncocked her pistol, tucking it away in a holster behind her back. House shrugged and returned to poking around in Walter's stuff.

"He always like that?"

Foreman nodded. "Pretty much."

"Is he your boss?"

"Kinda. Not really. It's complicated."

She snorted again, but this time it wasn't derisive. She held out her hand. "I'm Astrid. Astrid Farnsworth."

Foreman smiled as he shook her hand. "I'm Eric Foreman. He's Greg House." Foreman checked Astrid out, making no attempt to hide it. "You were looking pretty badass with that pistol, girl. Very Foxy Brown."

Astrid blushed as she studied the ground. She was about to respond when House shouted.

"Oh man, check this out" He was holding up a dozen hypodermic needles held together by a complex system of straps, with more electrical wires and EEG pads. "What is this? I don't know! But it's _awesome!"_

Astrid looked to Foreman for an explanation, but he could only shrug and throw his hands up. House continued his exploration of the room, and soon Astrid and Foreman were helping him sort through it all. When they came across Walter's journals, House stopped.

"This is what I need."

As House took a seat at Walter's desk and began pouring over the journals, Foreman moseyed over to where Astrid stood and made small talk as House read. They were interrupted by the sharp trill of Foreman's BlackBerry. He smiled apologetically to Astrid and held up a finger. "Hold on, I have to check this."

It was a text from Massachusetts General, the results of Walter's tox screen.

"House, the tox screen results are in." Foreman read the results with growing disbelief. "This is amazing. I can't believe this guy didn't fall into a coma earlier. LSD, DMT, MMDA, methamphetamines, benzedrines, dipropyltryptamines, House there isn't a single mood altering drug that this guy _isn't _on. Oh my god, there are traces of _trichlorimide_ in his system. That's a _poison_. Oh, and okay, they've also found 17 different compounds they _can't identify_."

House looked up from the journals and nodded. He seemed genuinely impressed. "If the coma is a symptom of the drug use, then we're never going to sort it out. Not when we don't know what half of them are."

Foreman watched House, recognizing the signs of growing frustration and impatience. House was getting nowhere, so his leg would soon be acting up. Sure enough he reached into his pocket and fumbled for his bottle of Vicoden, popping it open and dropping a pill into his hand. As House tossed the pill into his mouth and gulped it down Astrid stared at him, a slightly scandalized expression on her face. Eric only frowned as House continued reading.

Half an hour later House rubbed his thigh, trying to ignore the aching pain in his leg. He popped another Vicoden in his mouth and Foreman's eyes narrowed. House held the pill between his teeth and eyed Foreman defiantly before sucking it down. He flipped another page in Walter's journal. It was more of the same incoherent rambling; discussion of alternate dimensions coexisting with odes to breakfast cereals. Frequently in the same paragraph.

"Dammit!" House swept his arm across the desk, sending Walter's journals tumbling to the floor. "There's nothing here, nothing that makes any damn sense. I thought if I read through these things, I could get a glimpse into his mind, understand his thought processes."

Turning to face Foreman and Astrid, House rested his chin on the curve of his cane, a solemn expression on his face as he contemplated the laboratory. Then he tossed the cane into the air with a twirl and caught it, adding: "But hey, big surprise, inside the crazy man's head is a whole lot of crazy!"

Foreman's jaw tightened. He found himself wishing Wilson was here and could do that thing he did, where he talked to House and distracted him long enough to have an epiphany. But Foreman had no idea how to talk to House like a normal person. Foreman could never separate the man from the genius the way Wilson could. Foreman had to admit that has much as he respected and admired House's genius, he actually hated the man on a personal level.

"It's too bad you don't know how to run the mind interface protocols," mused Astrid. "Then you could really get inside Walter's head."

House's eyebrow went up. "The mind interface what nows?"

"Mind interface protocols?" She gestured at the devices House had been playing with earlier. "Walter uses those things to connect people's minds together. So that you can communicate with people in comas, that sort of thing."

House and Foreman looked at each incredulously. Foreman turned to consider Astrid, trying and failing to keep a condescending look off his face. "That's impossible. It can't be done."

Astrid's eyes narrowed. "Oh okay. I mean, I've only seen him do it. What do I know?"

"Look, don't get offended. I'm a neurologist. If that was possible, I'm sure I'd know about it. House, back me up here."

"Don't look at me, I'm not getting involved in this."

"Well excuse me Mr. I'm a neurologist. I've seen Walter record the thoughts of _dead people_, so maybe you _don't_ know everything."

"Oh snap," House exclaimed. Foreman and Farnsworth both shot him a dirty look. "What? Am I not allowed to say that?"

Astrid considered House like she was smelling something rotten, then turned back to Foreman, eying him distastefully. "I've got the videotape to prove it."

"Wait," House rose and stumbled excitedly towards Astrid. "You have video tape of Walter performing this mind interface protocol?"

"Uh, yeah. That's what I just said."

House looked at Foreman and Foreman shook his head. "No way House, no way."

"Oh yeah. Come on. How cool is that?"

"What?" Astrid glanced back and forth between the two doctors. "What's going on?"

"House thinks we can use the videotapes to reverse engineer Walter's quack science and repeat the experiment."

House nodded, a devilish grin on his face.

"Except there is no way in hell anyone is going to let him bring a possibly infectious patient into _Harvard_ and then hook up his brain through some crazy device that will probably _kill you_ House. You understand that?"

"Psh. We already know he's not infectious. New girl, I forget your name. Get the videotapes."

"Ok, first of all, it's Astrid. And you can ask nicely."

"Astrid, _please_ get the videotapes." Astrid considered House skeptically but turned to fetch the videos. House nodded and looked to Foreman. "Call Agent Dunham, tell her we need Walter brought here."

"What? Why me? Your the one who wants to play mad scientist."

"Exactly, and when Dunham hears that you want to play along, she'll make it happen."

Foreman eyed him skeptically but pulled out his cellphone and dialed agent Dunham. The phone rang.

"I hope you know what you're doing House."


	7. Chapter 7

**MASSACHUCHETTS GENERAL HOSPITAL, BOSTON, MA**

Olivia stepped out of the way of a pair of running orderlies and then had to dodge a rushing gurney. Firefighters, paramedics, police officers, and every other city employee they could mobilize was at Mass General. All of them seemed to be running.

Olivia's cellphone rang as she sidestepped a nurse pushing a nondescript black suited man in a wheelchair. Barely noticing due to the chaos in the hospital halls, she muttered an apology when her phone rang again. She didn't recognize the number.

"This is Agent Dunham, can you call me back later?"

"Actually, this is urgent agent Dunham." It was Dr. Foreman. "It's about Walter."

Charlie Francis appeared from around a corner, trailed by a half dozen agents carrying military flamethrowers, and Olivia sighed with relief. Covering the phone's receiver she said: "Thank god you're here."

"Where do you need us?"

Olivia held up her finger to indicate she needed a second, and turned back to her phone. "Doctor Foreman, things are a little crazy here, can I call you back?"

"I just need you to transfer Walter back to his lab. Dr. House thinks he knows what to do."

"Sure, I'll get right on that. Goodbye Dr. Foreman." Olivia snapped her phone shut and sighed at Charlie. The last hour had been enough excitement for a lifetime. "Fifth floor. Take the stairs, it's already in the elevator shaft. And hurry, it's growing fast."


	8. Chapter 8

**HARVARD UNIVERSITY, BOSTON, MA**

Two hours later Olivia Dunham entered the Harvard laboratory with Peter Bishop in tow. She was covered in soot, with a pair of butterfly sutures covering a small gash on her forehead. She smelled of smoke. Peter seemed unscathed. The pair was followed by two EMTs who wheeled Walter in on a gurney. As the rolled Walter into the medical bay Peter glared at House.

"I hope you know what you're doing House."

Olivia shot Peter a reproachful glance, then turned to address House. "You do know what you're doing, don't you?"

"well, we watched the video and I read Walter's journals." House adjusted the metal rig connected to his head while Foreman began attaching a similar rig to Walter. "So I'm about 50% sure this is a good idea. Maybe 30%."

Olivia eyed him skeptically. "That's not reassuring. This is dangerous technology Dr. House. Walter used this to help me communicate with my late partner, and I still see and hear him, like ghost. A part of him was left in my mind. _Forever."_

House considered Dunham coolly, then looked to Foreman; he only shrugged as if to say "what did you expect?"

"I'm glad to know that the Department of Homeland Security has an equal opportunity program for _crazy people_."

Olivia shrank back at the comment. She retreated to Peter's side and leaned in confidentially to whisper: "I'm starting to see why you don't like him."

"Okay House, we're ready." Foreman looked at House, still refusing to believe he was crazy enough to do this. "You can still back out you know."

House smiled but turned towards the sensory deprivation booth. He threw the doors open and dropped his robe, having already changed into a tight fitting pair of black swim trunks. He gingerly lifted his foot and tried to step into the pool, but his leg wouldn't rise high enough. Foreman stepped in behind him and House shooed him away, leaning his shoulder against the open door and lifting his leg with both hands.

His foot slipped out from under him and he fell backwards, but Foreman was ready and caught him before he slammed his head against Walter's desk.

"Dammit House, don't do this."

"Just help me into the tank."

Eric sighed and shook his head, amazed again at House's stubborn refusal to face reality. "Okay, have it your way."

He lifted House up and guided his feet into the pool, helping him get a seat on the edge of the tank.

"I can manage from here," House insisted as he lowered himself into the suspension medium. "Okay, I'm in. Close the doors."

Foreman grabbed both doors and began to swing them shut. He looked down at House one last time, certain he should say something, but knowing that House would never listen.

"Eric?"

"Yeah House?"

"Watch the monitors. Don't let me die in here."

"Dammit House." Foreman scowled as he dropped the steel doors of the tank. He turned to check the monitors. Everything was fine, for now.

"Activating mind-interface." Foreman flipped a switch on one of Walter's weird machines. It made a noise and lights came on. Foreman didn't know if that meant it was working properly or not. He checked the monitors, everything was still fine. "Looks good so far."

Olivia walked over to stand beside Foreman, looking at the monitors as if they meant something to her.

"It's a brave thing he's doing, risking himself like this to help Walter."

Foreman snorted derisively and glanced at the tank. "He's not doing this to help Walter. He's doing it for the chance to be in someone else's brain."


	9. Chapter 9

**HARVARD UNIVERSITY, BOSTON, MA**

It was dark inside the tank. He closed his eyes; it was the same darkness. Dark, wet and a bit chilly. House shivered as his senses grew accustomed to the darkness and quiet. The liquid medium he floated in wasn't water, not entirely. It was slightly more viscous and retained heat better. He could already feel it warming to match his body temperature.

"Doctor House, can you hear me?"

It was Peter Bishop. His voice echoed off the interior of the chamber.

"I can hear you. Now shut up."

"I'm going to have to guide you --"

"I watched the video. I've got it."

There was a long silent pause. House opened his eyes and closed them again, realizing it made no difference either way. He had some experience with sensory deprivation tanks and quickly adjusted to the loss of any sense of time and space. Clearing his mind, he relaxed and allowed Walter's devices to do their job. Reality slipped away and he could sense that _something_ was happening.

"You have to relax and allow your mind to synch up with Walter. The machine will do all the work."

House's eyes snapped open.

"Will you _please_ shut up!"

"House, this is Foreman. Your vital signs are holding steady. This really amazing. For a minute there your EEG readings were almost --"

"That's because it _was_ working. Now if you just shut up maybe it will work again."

"Sorry."

"Sorry, House."

"Shut up!"

House closed his eyes and relaxed. The darkness and silence became absolute. Time and space fell away leaving House to float in the infinite void of his own consciousness. Light and color emerged from the darkness; shapes and textures followed.

Outside the tank Foreman and Peter kept track of the read outs from the half dozen monitors. Heart rate, blood pressure, everything seemed fine. Peter nodded towards the EEG read out and Foreman shook his head in disbelief. House's brainwaves matched those of Walter.

"I wonder what he sees in there?"

Peter shrugged in response to Foreman's question, but Olivia leaned forward over the monitors. A nervous twitch pulling down at the corners of her mouth betrayed the calm front she presented.

"He's seeing Walter's memories. I imagine it's quite terrifying. Walter has seen things the rest of us only imagine in nightmares."

Peter leaned back in his chair and contemplated his father. The old man lie still and peaceful on the examination table. If Peter didn't know better he would have sworn Walter was just catching a nap.

He glanced at Olivia. "Is that what is was like for you?"

"At first. Until I found John. He was lost inside himself."

"Of course, John was a sane and stable FBI agent. We can't assume that the interior of Walter's mind is the same. His memories are fractured and volatile, and that's on his good days. Doctor House may be walking into a madhouse."

Foreman shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Peter chuckled.

"It's a bit much to take in, isn't it Doctor Foreman?"

"This shouldn't even be possible. What we're seeing here, this can't be happening. But it really is. We've actually connected two minds together. I can't believe your father developed this and has never published these findings."

Olivia offered him a sympathetic smile. "You're a neurologist, isn't that correct Doctor Foreman?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm glad you're a bit freaked out by all this. Makes me feel more reasonable for being _completely_ freaked out by it."

Foreman smiled and the intercom buzzed. It was House, inside the tank. He had made contact.

House was standing in a large cobblestone courtyard. Brick buildings covered in ivy surrounded him in every direction, separated only by small patches of green grass and manicured trees. The place looked familiar; he'd been here before. It was one of the Ivy League schools, but he wasn't sure which one. It might have been Harvard, but if so the layout was different. More compressed and abstract.

He looked down at himself. His cane was clasped firmly in hand, and he wore slacks, a t-shirt, sport jacket, tennis shoes. He wondered about that for a moment. Was he imagining his clothing? If so, why these clothes? House hoped that this wasn't his own self-image; he'd assumed his ego could do better.

People were walking in every direction, following along the various paths between buildings. House stepped aside quickly as one of them almost walked through him.

"Excuse me," offered the passer-by.

House took stock of him quickly. He was middle-aged, thick black hair, slightly nervous demeanor. He wore leather-patched tweed and looked exactly like a professor. House realized with a shock that it was Walter Bishop. Exactly as he looked when House had first learned of him those many years ago.

House rushed after Bishop, grabbing him by the arm.

"Doctor Bishop? I'm Greg House."

"Pardon me," Bishop offered lamely as he turned to face House. "Hello. How are you?"

A second passer-by brushed against him and House glanced over, startled. This second passer-by also had dark hair and the same nervous demeanor. It was Doctor Bishop again, this one in his thirties if House guessed correctly.

"Excuse me," he muttered as he continued on. House stood baffled, unsure how to respond to what he was seeing.

"Goodbye," offered the older Bishop as he turned to resume his trek towards the distant building. House let him go and chased after the younger Bishop. He grabbed his arm and spun the doctor around.

"Pardon me," Bishop offered lamely. "Oh hello. How are you?"

"Doctor Bishop, my name is Greg House. You're in a coma. I'm here to help you."

Bishop blinked and smiled nervously. House stared at the younger Bishop, who only regarded him blankly. House waved a hand in front of Bishop's face. Bishop responded by lifting his own hand and waving weakly.

"Goodbye!" Bishop turned and resumed his trek to the building.

House slowly scanned the whole quad and realized that all of the people making their way about were Walter Bishop. Some were young, some were old, some were middle aged. Almost all of them wore tweed.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"House, your heart rate has increased," boomed a voice from the heavens. "What's happening?"

"Oh my god, Hollywood was right. God is a black man!"

"What?"

"Oh wait, that's just Foreman talking to me despite me repeatedly telling him to _shut up_."

"So everything's fine?"

"So far. I think I'm tapped into the wrong part of his brain." House considered the dozens of Walter Bishops rushing around him, each walking in a trance towards nothing. "I think I'm accessing habitual patterns, conditioned social responses. Those things Walter does without even thinking about them? I'm where he thinks about them."

"Doctor House, can you hear me?" It was Peter now. "Doctor House, you have to go deeper. You have to find a way into more active portions of Walter's brain."

"You're just a font of redundant information, aren't you Peter."

There was no response.

House considered the buildings surrounding him. Only one stood out as larger than the rest, more prominent. Most of the Walters seemed to be streaming in and out of this one building. House recognized it as the hall where Walter's laboratory could be found. He began walking towards it.


	10. Chapter 10

**DEEPER INSIDE WALTER'S MIND**

House slowly made his way up the stairs into the building, hugging close to the edge of the stairwell to avoid the press of advancing Walters. With single minded purpose they streamed in and out of the building. If the Walters were thought of as blood cells and the halls and courtyard paths of Harvard thought of as veins, then the strongest flow came through these doors. House could follow that stream to what he hoped would be the heart.

The steady stream of Walters thinned slightly as he passed through the doors, with some of the Walters heading towards a men's room, others rushing to elevators and stairs. House noted the older Walters tended to take the elevators; it didn't take a logician of his caliber to guess why. Most of the Walters headed down a short hall and through a fire door.

House followed them. Pressing against the wall to avoid bumping them, he took slow sideways steps down the stairwell. His cane was of little use, and by the time they switched back twice his leg was throbbing with pain. He searched his pockets but they were empty. No vicoden in the dreamstate apparently.

Muttering obscenities under his breath, he worked his way down the final switchback. The pain in his leg was intense and so it took a moment for him to notice he was alone in the stairwell. He took a quick glance up and down the stairs, then another. He was indeed alone.

The florescent lights in the stairwell flickered and hummed as the shadows deepened. House made his way down the final stairs with relative ease. As he stumbled off the last stair he threw out his cane, neatly pressing the levered door. It sailed open and he sailed through, catching his balance in the hall beyond.

"I meant to do that."

"Meant to do what?"

House shook his cane at the ceiling, though Foreman's voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"Shoo! Not talking to you!"

The hallway was dark and shadowy; the white walls covered in a yellow film of dust. At the far end of old caged sodium lights sputtered and flickered above a door. A man in a white lab coat stood in the circle of light. A dozen doors with wire screened windows lined the hall between House and the man, each as dark as the next.

House began hobbling down the hall, shouting Dr. Bishop's name at the man. He turned and House could make out his face. It was Walter Bishop, exactly as he had appeared in the hospital, though slightly more animated. Exhaustion and fear lined his face; his eyes grew wide as he saw House approach.

"No!" He was waving his arms back and forth. "It's dangerous! Stay away!"

Slowing his pace, House hesitantly continue towards Dr. Bishop.

"Walter? Walter Bishop! I'm Doctor Greg House. You're in a coma Walter! I'm coming to help you!"

"No! You don't understand! It's gotten loose! It's escaped!"

House continued forward; puddles splashing under his feet, slowing his pace further. The dark, brackish water smelled of purification and death. He scanned the hall for a source of the water and realized it came from inside Walter's lab.

"What's gotten loose?"

"My experiments. All of my experiments! They're in the world and there's nothing I can do!"

House was almost to Walter now, and reached out to grab his sleeve. Bishop was staring at the door; his face a mask of stark terror. He turned to face House and screamed: "We're all going to die!"

House took hold of Bishop and shook him, trying to ignore the steady stream of water that poured out from under the door. Not just under the door he realized, but from every seam, as if the door held back an entire ocean. Or sewer.

"Get yourself together man, we're not going to –"

The door finally gave and a tidal wave of waste water and sludge burst forth, battering the two doctors and hurling them across the hall. House slammed into the wall and lost his grip on Walter's sleeve. The force of the water pushed him to the ground and send him sliding down the hall. As he flailed and fought to keep above the water he saw Walter swept away in the opposite direction.

"Oh crap! We're all going to die!"

Suddenly the world exploded into bright lights. Hands were gripping him and pulling him about, he struggled against them until he realized Foreman was slapping him across the face.

"House! House are you okay!"

House blinked and shook his head as the world – the real world! – of Walter's lab took shape around him. He was lying on the cold linoleum floor, Walter's mad mess of wires and electrodes still stuck to his head.

"That was so cool. Put me back in!"

Foreman frowned as he pressed his fingers into House's eye, forcing it open while he shined a flashlight to check his responses.

"Your vitals were all over the map House. You almost had a stroke in there! There's no way I'm letting you go back in that tank."

"You have to let me in, I made contact with Walter. I found him."

Peter Bishop loomed over House, his brow furrowed. "Do you know what causes his coma?"

"I do."

Foreman helped House sit up, still frowning. "Then there's no reason to go back in."

"No, that's just the thing. Going back in is the only way to save him."

"What's causing the coma?"

"Walter. Walter is causing the coma. It's not a coma at all. It's catatonia."

"Catatonia?" Peter looked at him skeptically. "You mean it's all in his head?"

"Exactly. It's in his head, which is why I need to be in there with him."

"No way." Foreman was shaking his head, holding House's arm tight as he helped him to his feet. "There are treatments for catatonia that don't require breaking the laws of science. We'll start Walter on two miligrams of lorazepam and go from there."

House snorted indigantly. "Because what the stew in Walter's blood really needs is another cook."

Peter shot Foreman a puzzled glance.

"He means that with all of the drugs already in Walter's system, the normal treatment plan for catatonia might not work. Your father is already self-medicating for it. But what House is recommending is insane."

"It's not insane." House chuckled, adding dramatically: "It's madness! Madness I tell you!"

"You can't talk someone out of catatonia House, it's nonresponsive to talk therapies."

"That's only because you can't talk to a catatonic. But we can." He pointed to the tank. "With that."

"Okay, but even if you can get through to him, you won't be able to just convince him to come out of the catatonic state with a few words!"

"You're a neurologist, not a psychologist Eric. You can't possibly know that."

Foreman threw up his arms and stormed across the lab, turning back and angrily jabbing his finger at House. "You're not a psychologist either House! You have no idea what you're doing! You don't even care about alternative treatments, do you?"

House yawned and returned Foreman's diatribe with a bored stare.

"Fine." Throwing his hands down in defeat, Foreman folded his arms across his chest. Foreman had entered his 'washing my hands of it' phase of argument and House knew he'd won. "I get it, the science is too cool, you're not going to listen to reason. I'm not going to try to convince you to worry about your own life if you can't be bothered to value it."

House stood, smiling smugly. "Good, then –"

"But what about Walter's life?"

"What?" House regretted the question as soon as he asked. Peter pounced on the hesitation, and House winced as he knew the argument had only started.

"What about Walter?"

House's jaw tightened as he realized Peter was asking it of Foreman.

"We have no idea what could happen Peter. House could go back in and save your dad. Or he could die. Or they could both die. There is a standard protocol for treating catatonia, a safe and well-tested protocol that we can administer right here and now. Or we can let House play mad scientist with your father's life for kicks."

Olivia watched the exchange with some interest.

"Peter, maybe you should consider what Dr. Foreman is saying."

Peter glared at House then nodded. "I think you're right." Turning to Foreman, he added: "Dr. Foreman, let's try it your way."

House scowled as he pulled on a bathrobe, while from across the lab Foreman smirked and prepared. House grabbed his sleeve as he walked past.

"Appealing to the family's fear? That's low Foreman, even for you."

Foreman smiled smugly and patted House's shoulder. "You'll thank me later."


	11. Chapter 11

**HARVARD UNIVERSITY, BOSTON, MA**

House leaned back in Walter's chair and pretended he wasn't watching Foreman administer the standard protocol. It wasn't going to work, but there was only one way to prove that. He popped a vicoden in his mouth and swallowed. Foreman had to fail before they'd let him back in the tank. Waiting for Foreman to fail was an irritating waste of time, unless it worked. House hoped that it wouldn't.

Agent Dunham leaned against a desk, her back to him, watching Foreman operate. She occasionally glanced his way, giving him a puzzled look. House studied her as he thought about his encounter with Walter.

What was going on here in Walter's lab, why were the FBI involved? Was this connected to the strange condition of Roger Barnes? At first he had thought the two events were connected only by the lack of imagination of Bishop's doctors at Mass General, but as he thought of Walter's cries in the hallway he wondered if perhaps there was more of a connection.

"Tell me more about Doctor Bishop's work."

Agent Dunham turned his way, startled by the question.

"Excuse me?"

"Doctor Bishop's work. Tell me about it."

Dunham smiled and brushed the hair from her eyes.

"I'm sorry Doctor House, that's confidential."

"Doctor Bishop's work has something to do with what happened to Roger Barnes, doesn't it?"

"I'm really not at liberty to discuss that."

"Hmph. Everyone lies."

"Excuse me? I didn't catch that."

"I said --" House tossed his cane gently in the air, giving it a slight spin, then snatched it before it got to far. "-- everybody lies."

Olivia's eyebrow raised as she gave him a confused look.

"I'm not lying to you Doctor House."

"Oh, you're not telling me an untruth. You're not fabricating anything. But you're still lying."

"How so?"

"A lie of omission," House explained matter of factly. "The government's favorite sort. Information I need to do my job, information you have, kept from me. You say you can't tell me, but the truth is you _won't_ tell me."

Olivia smirked.

"You've got me there Doctor House. I could tell you." She turned suddenly serious. "But then I'd have to kill you."

House gulped. "Really?"

She laughed. "Of course not. Why are you asking? Do you think this has something to do with Walter's catatonia? I thought you determined it was a result of his drug usage. Isn't that why you're convinced Doctor Foreman's treatment won't work?"

"It's something he said, while I was in the tank."

"What did he say?"

"Walter's work – does he have any reason to feel guilty about it?"

Olivia's eyes went wide and she stood, clearly rattled by the question.

"He does, doesn't he? And it's not the accident with his lab assistant, that's not it at all. It's his work itself, his experimentation. He feels guilty about it, and he had good reason to, doesn't he?"

"Do you really think this has something to do with Walter's coma?"

"Catatonic state. And yes, yes I do. I think Walter is retreating from something, something he feels extremely guilty about, something that is overwhelming him. You know something, don't you Agent Dunham? There's something horrible about Walter Bishop's work. You need to tell me what it is. So I can help him."

Olivia glanced over at Walter, then back to House.

"Follow me."

She lead him into one of the lab's small offices and opened a file drawer. She dropped a dozen case files in front of him.

"You can't tell anyone what I'm about to show you. Nobody can know about this."

House nodded and reached for a file. Dunham slapped his hand.

"I can't let you see everything, but I can show you what you need to know."

She opened a folder and slid a photo across the table. It showed half of a humanoid creature with wrinkled gray skin, tusk-like fangs and a coat of needles like a porcupine. It looked like some sort of Hollywood special effect.

"Marshall Bowman. Victim of a weaponized transmutagenic. It turned him into that. Based on Walter's research."

She opened another folder and slid a second picture towards him. A geriatic nude, covered in blood, lying dead on a hospital floor. He still had an umbilical cord. House looked up at her, puzzled, and she handed him another photo. This depicted a young woman on an operating table, her abdomen burst.

"Consequences of Walter's research in celermitosis."

"Excuse me? Are you saying..."

"Yes, she died giving birth to a toddler, who survived another few minutes before dying of old age."

"That's impossible. Nothing can grow that fast."

"No Doctor House, that's Walter Bishop. He does the impossible before breakfast."

"Why would he develop these things?"

"In most of these cases he didn't. Walter's research seems to have laid the groundwork for a lot of later work by other scientists. While some of Walter's research was done on behalf of the military and had direct wartime application, most of his work seems to have been strictly theoretical."

"And this thing that affected Roger Barnes, was this also from Bishop's research."

"I don't know. It seems likely."

"I'd thank you for showing me this Agent Dunham, because I think I know how to help Walter now, but honestly, I'm not sure I'm going to ever get a good night's sleep again. Who are these people? Who does things like this?"

"I wish we knew, but we're still figuring that out."

Foreman appeared in the office's door. He was frowning.

"Didn't work, did it?" House smirked.

"No. It didn't work."

"You know what that means."

"You're going back in the tank."

House grinned but Foreman and Olivia did not share his enthusiasm.


	12. Chapter 12

**INSIDE WALTER'S MIND**

Grimacing as Foreman attached the interface to the base of his skull, House prepared himself to re-enter the tank.

"Give me a hand."

He held out his arm and Foreman took it, supporting him as he stepped into the tank. He lowered himself down gently into the solution, stretching himself out and floating on the surface.

"I'm closing the doors."

He nodded and Foreman brought heavy steel doors shut, plunging House into darkness. It was easy to return to that dreaming state without space and time.

Foreman's voice crackled over the intercom, giving the all clear. Floating in the darkness, listening to Foreman voice reverberate through the water and echoing off the heavy steel walls, House found he couldn't orient himself towards the intercom, even though he knew that it was only a few inches from his head.

Lights exploded around House, intense yellows and oranges. There was a roar, like a fierce wind,that resolved into a hissing crackle and punctuated by the occasional pop. The yellows and reds gained shadow and definition, transforming into flames and cinders. House was in a laboratory and it was on fire.

He spun around in a panic and realized Walter was next to him. He seemed younger, less worn and ragged. He was screaming and shouting, waving his arms about. House followed his gaze out across the burning lab and saw a panicked young woman trapped by the flames. She was screaming, pleading for help, but there was no way to get to her. A lone fire extinguisher was bolted to a far wall, cut off from both sides by more flames.

House realized he knew where he was, that he had read about this. This was the accident that had sent Walter away. She was the assistant he had killed; a victim of his careless disregard for safety.

House grabbed Walter, bunching up his lab coat between balled fists, and shook him.

"Doctor Bishop! Walter! My name is Doctor Gregory House! I'm here to help you!"

Walter starred at him, puzzled and shocked. "We have to help her," he whined, his gaze constantly flicking back to the screaming girl.

"It's too late! This happened years ago. She's already dead."

Walter starred blankly at him, his mouth opening and closing without words. With his wide-eyes and flopping jaw he looked like a dazed and confused goldfish caught out of water.

"Yes," he finally nodded. "That was a long time ago, wasn't it? There are more pressing things I have to take care of."

Walter seemed to age visibly as the flames around them died down and disappeared. The shapes and colors that made up the laboratory blurred and dissolved as the flames vanished, melting away to Walter's present lab. In reality Walter was laying on the cold steel slab of the examination table, but here in Walter's mind that slab was occupied by the body of Roger Barnes. Walter hurried awkwardly across the lab.

"We have to save this man, he's in a coma." He shot a glance at House and offered him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, you said you were a doctor?"

"Yes, Doctor Greg House." House joined Walter at the examination table. "Doctor Bishop, this man is already dead."

"Yes." Bishop paused and considered the body in front of them. "I suppose he is."

The body of Roger Barnes began to swell and turn a dark purple, twitching and spasming unnaturally. House took a step back and heard a splash. Looking down he saw water running across the floor. He followed the flow to it's source; it poured in from under every door. House starred briefly at the lab's trembling main door, water seeping in around every edge, as if it held back an ocean. He looked back at Walter and found the old man trembling in terror.

"Walter!" He grabbed the scientist and shook him. "This is not real! This is all in your mind. You have to stop!"

Walter blank stare told House that he didn't understand.

"You're in a catatonic state Walter, presenting as a coma. Something happened in the lab, and it triggered something in your mind. Something you can't deal with, something that has you caught in this scenario in your head. You have to face --"

The body on the exam table exploded, splattering the two doctors with a gory mix of reds and purples. A half-dozen eggplant-colored worms, each as long as a man is tall and as thick as House's leg, writhed and convulsed in the ruined mess that was Roger Barnes.

Walter was shrieking as the doors burst in and a wall of water swept through the room. House reached out and slapped Bishop hard across the face. As soon as his palm met the old man's cheek they were outside under cold gray skies.

Walter and House both looked around them, equally confused, though for very different reasons. Leafless trees with skinny branches weaved their limbs together over their heads, and their dry and crackling leaves swirled around their trucks, carried by a cool autumn breeze. Weather worn and aged granite slabs jutted out from the thin grass like ancient teeth. Tombstones as far as the eye could see.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen." Walter sniffed as he starred at one of the many markers. House read the stone; it said 'Peter Bishop.' It was at least twenty years old. "I just wanted my son back."

"Yeah, that's nice. But Walter, you have to listen to me. You need to tell me what happened in the lab."

Walter sniffed again and gave House his attention, butt no answer.

"What happened?" House pleaded. "What happened in the lab?"

"Don't you understand? I had to save him. I had to save my boy, no matter the cost. But I didn't know the costs! I didn't know the costs at all!"

"What are you talking about? The cost of what?"

Walter grabbed House by the shoulders and gripped him tight. "The cost of retrieving Peter from the other dimension. Can you even begin to fathom how much something like that costs? The microchips alone were millions of dollars!"

"What? What are you saying? What do you mean 'retrieve from the other dimension?'"

"Peter was ill, terminal. I had to save him, and I tired so many different things, but nothing worked. But then I realized the solution. You see, there's more than one of everything. Even Peter! All I had to do was retrieve another Peter from another dimension, and I'd have my son back! As healthy as ever!"

House was at a loss for words. Was this the rantings of a mad man, or was this the truth?

"But it was so expensive, and I didn't know how to pay for it. I tried to skim money from the grants that the government was giving Belly and I, but he caught me."

"Belly?"

"William Bell, my old partner."

"William Bell, as in the founder of Massive Dynamics William Bell, was your partner?"

"Yes, until I sold him all my research. He had been pressuring me for years. So much of our work was based on my research, my theories, my ideas. Belly had friends, people with more money than good sense, and they wanted to buy our research, make it commercial. But I wouldn't sell. Our work, the things we were doing, they were too dangerous, too much potential for abuse."

"And then Peter died, and you needed to fund your attempt to retrieve another Peter from this alternate universe."

"Exactly."

"And what does this have to do with Roger Barnes?"

Walter's grip on House's shoulders loosen and his arms fell to his side, shoulders slumping. He seemed tired.

"Roger Barnes? Just another abuse of my research, just another innocent person dead because of my selfishness and greed."

"The worm, the one that infected Barnes and turned him into an incubator. Your research had something to do with that?"

"Everything to do with that. Gene splicing, viral mutation, tampering with the very fabric of nature." He chuckled glumly. "You could say it was my specialty. I always told myself I was doing important work, that I was a good scientist because I was creating monsters. But I knew I could, I knew I could create monsters and I knew it was wrong. And then I sold it, all of my theories on creating these monsters and so many others just like them. I sold my work on monsters to monsters. And now Roger Barnes has paid the price."

"That's it? That's the whole reason you've lead yourself slip into this state? Because you feel guilty?"

"I am guilty! Look at the things I've done! Look at the monsters I've unleashed in the world!"

"Oh shut up. You're a scientist. That's the price of science. We don't get to choose what happens with the discoveries we make, and we sure as hell aren't responsible for them."

"But --"

"No buts!" House shouted him down. "Science is discovery, not invention. You made have discovered these truths that create monsters, but you didn't make them true. You didn't make the universe work the way it does, and if you hadn't discovered it someone else would have."

"That's all there is too it. You can't hold yourself responsible for the evil things people do with your research."

"But I knew that it could be used..."

"Of course it could be used for evil, but it could also be used for good. Half the diagnostic tools we use at Princeton-Plainsboro are built by Massive Dynamic, as well as some of the most radical treatments available. How many of those are only possible because of your research?"

"You're a scientist Doctor Bishop. You do science, and you don't concern yourself with what happens next. That's what you have to do to be true to science. Just like I don't get the luxury of asking if my patients deserve to live or die. I treat them, save their lives, and if they go out and kill a thousand people the next day. Well that's just not my fault. The world is a crappy place Walter, and it's full of crappy people. And you can't take responsibility for the crap they do. You just have to do your own job the best you can, and accept that it all turns to shit in the end anyways."

"It all turns to shit in the end?"

"That's right Walter. No matter how much good you try to do, no matter how much evil you avoid doing, at the end of the day some asshole is going to come along and crap all over it. And it's not your fault. Roger Barnes is not your fault, and neither is Flight 627, or Lorraine Alcott, or any of the other people who have died because of misguided applications of your discoveries. Now get over it."

"But it can't be that simple, I can't just shrug off all the evil I've brought into the world as a result of my research. There has to be consequences!"

"Of course there are consequences, some good, some bad. But you're not responsible for them. Do you think Philo Farnsworth is responsible for the drek they put of TV? No! Is John Lennon responsible for the crap Oasis tries to pass off as music? No! And you're not responsible for the things people do with your work, just like the giants whose shoulders you stood on aren't responsible for whatever you've done. If we all take responsibility for what those who follow us do, then everything is the fault of the first monkey to climb down from a tree. Either way, we're blameless."

Walter blinked and smiled. "You know, I think you might be right."

House smiled, pleased with himself.

"And now Doctor House," Walter's expression drew grim. "I'd like you to get out of my head."

The graveyard turned black as night and grew suddenly cold. Wet and disoriented, House realized he was back in the cold, dark tank. He reached out and touched its cold walls then yelled.

"Hey! Get me out of here!"

A moment later the heavy steel doors swung open and Foreman's dark scowl loomed over him. He reached down and grabbed House under the shoulders, dragging him up and out of the water. As House sat on the edge of the tank Foreman yanked the connection from the base of his skull, provoking a wave of dizziness and nausea.

House stood shakily and took the robe Foreman offered him, slipping it over his shoulders as he shivered. It wasn't the cold that made him tremble, but some after effect of his sudden ejection from Walter's mind.

He glanced over at the old scientist lying on the slab. He was awake, his compatriots gathered around him and celebrating his return. He tried to rise up but seemed tired and lethargic. House sympathized.

House gathered up his clothes and dressed himself, keeping his distance from the patient and his family. As he slipped on his sports jacket Agent Dunham approached him.

"Doctor House?" She smiled weakly, as if she was about offer an apology. "You understand that you can't tell anyone about Walter's work, or about Fringe Division. I'm sure that's clear."

"Doctor House understands," Foreman said as he looked to House, who smirked but nodded. "National security and all that."

"Good, good." Olivia smiled again, more genuine this time. "I'm glad we all understand. Do you need me to call for a ride? The Bureau is happy to take you to their airport?"

"That'll be fine."

Olivia pulled out her cellphone and began making arrangements as Foreman and House made their way to the door. House stopped on the threshold and looked back at Walter's lab, at all of the neat things he was never going to get to play with. His jaw tightened and his eyes grew soft and wet as he took a long last look at the sensory deprivation and contemplate all of the mysteries he could unlock with it. He wondered most of all why he had still needed his cane inside Walter's mind. Wilson would have something to say about that, if only he could tell Wilson.

Walter glanced towards House and their eyes met. The old man smiled warmly at the sight of House's forelorn look, mistaking it for sorrow at the parting of friends, and silently mouthed the words: "Thank you."

House smirked and stepped into the hall, twirling his cane as he went.

**THE END**


End file.
